Cookies
by Delphein
Summary: All flavors of cookies for the fans of Delphein stories. (Mostly rated PG or PG-13. Read at own risk, though.)
1. Cards and Cookies

**Disclaimer: Blah blah blah. Consider it disclaimed.

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_While it's not **entirely** necessary to have read my other, big works first, these little morsel are really intended for those who have already at least read my _Honest and Dishonest Men_. I would recommend reading _Significance _as well before attacking these, just so's you know what's going on in all subsequent cookies to be posted. _

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This particular cookie was taken someone between the end of HaDM_ and the beginning of _Significance 

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**Cards and Cookies**

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"Jack Sparrow, you're cheating!"  
  
"Me, cheat?" Jack grinned impishly, a rather poor facsimile of the "innocent" expression the situation really called for. "And ye forgot the 'Captain'."  
  
"So that's what you call it, eh? 'The Captain.'"  
  
Jack stared at her, his look caught somewhere between a glare for her mockery at his reminding her of his all-important title and an amused expression at her teasing. "_'The Captain'_," he said, going along with her jest, "doesn't ever _have_ to cheat to get some."  
  
"Never mind that," Gwen said without even the barest blush. "What have you got up your sleeves?"  
  
"Well, that's the question of the century now, isn't it? Ye figure that one out, and I have a friend, by name Norrington, who would _love_ to talk to ye."  
  
Gwen sighed. "Hang Norrington," she said dismissively. "_You_ stop palming cards."  
  
"I'd love to. Blighter tried to stretch me neck once or twice."  
  
She raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
"Sure, sure, no more card-swiping."  
  
"So you confess you were. This last hand was forfeit then," Gwen insisted.  
  
Jack sighed in an exaggerated longsuffering sort of way and acquiesced to her simple demand with a nod. He then gestured erratically at the tabletop. "Fine. Deal."  
  
Gwen eyed him for another long moment, shuffled the cards reflexively a time or two, and dealt them out. They were playing a simple no-wilds, five-card draw, so after clipping their respective five cards down on the table, Gwen gathered up her cards and fixed Jack with her best game-face. Jack grinned pleasantly at his own cards, acting entranced by them, ignoring the warning her eyes were shooting at him. He knew very well that this was "her" game. He really didn't bother himself with playing all that often, while she, on the other hand, was the reigning champion on the Pearl. He was on her turf... and not abiding by the rules of engagement.  
  
Gwen frowned at her cards (a generic perhaps-they're-good, perhaps- they're-bad sort of frown). The Kings of Hearts and Diamonds, the Jack of Hearts, the Ten of Hearts, and the Two of Spades. The Two was certainly out, but should she trade the King of Diamonds and hope for the Queen of Hearts, or forfeit the ten and hope for more kings?  
  
As she deliberated over her options, she thought she heard the suspicious sound of cards flicking against each other- that dry, soft, muffled-clicking sound she knew so very well. Her eyes snapped up in an instant. Jack was innocently toying with his cards, shifting and rearranging them as though he were grouping them according to his best options. He met her gaze evenly with a look that reminded her of a schoolboy, guiltlessly oblivious of the mischief he was suspected of, a half-smile of amusement touching his lips and eyes.  
  
Gwen stared at his hand of cards a moment more, looked back at him, and then turned her gaze back to her own hand.  
  
Well. She usually enjoyed astounding luck at gaming, an effect of an inherited blessing or charm of some sort and the reason for her habit of winning at the crew's card-tables. Chewing her lower lip thoughtfully as she considered this, she finally decided to take her chances at getting a straight flush. This strategy decided, she looked up at Jack again.  
  
He smoothed his mustaches with finger and thumb of one hand, ran the hand over his scruffy jaw, and tugged lightly at his braided goatee. Then, giving his cards one last evaluative glance, he said simply, "Me shirt."  
  
Gwen glanced down at herself, taking stock of what she had left to bet. "Skirt," she said, having already lost her shirt to him, amongst other things, leaving her upper body clothed only by her cotton support garment.  
  
The preliminary bets set, Jack passed on the opportunity to trade in any cards. Adding her Two of Spades and the King of Diamonds to the discard, Gwen drew again for herself.  
  
...The Queen of Hearts, and the Two of Hearts. A flush. Had that bloody two been the Nine of Hearts, she would have had a straight flush. Had it been the Ace of Hearts, a royal flush. Well. Not the greatest hand in the world, but there was still a chance. Her eyes flicked up to study Jack, to see if any glee or disappointment seeped through his mask of apathy.  
Jack's appearance didn't betray a single thing, but his bet did. "I raise ye every stitch I've got left," he said cockily.  
  
Gwen merely smiled deceptively at him as she considered his chances of really having anything worthwhile. To bluff or not to bluff. To call or to fold. Well, what were his chances, really?  
  
"Likewise," she said after a moment.  
  
Grinning devilishly at her, Jack simply flipped his cards face-up onto the table. To hell with letting suspense build.  
  
Three Aces, and the two black Kings.  
  
Gwen automatically revealed her own all-Hearts flush. But before Jack could demand his "payment" of her- his full house definitively beat her flush- she had risen from her chair.  
  
They had been playing at the corner of the table in their- well, in Jack's cabin. Now, Gwen stepped around to stand beside Jack, and rather than stripping out of her own clothes, she reached for his shirt.  
  
"'Ey!" Jack yelped as she skillfully tugged the garment over his head. "Last I checked, I won!"  
  
Gwen wordlessly presented five cards- the five he had _really_ been dealt in the last hand- that she had just found lost within the sleeves of his shirt.  
  
"When did you start learning sleight of hand, luv?" Jack asked, smiling innocently.  
  
She merely lifted an eyebrow at him.  
  
He grinned back, looked at cards, looked at the cards on the table, and looked back to her, still grinning in the same devil-may-care way a puppy might use.  
  
"No more card-stealing, you said?" Gwen prompted.  
  
Jack nodded toward his Ace-and-King full house on the table. "Stole those _before_ ye made me quit," he confessed boldly. "Didn't say I couldn't still play 'em."  
  
Gwen sighed. "You're incorrigible."  
  
"Thank ye," he said with a roguish grin. In the same instant, he caught her around the waist and pulled her down onto his lap. "You lost, but I cheated. Think that means we both end up naked?"  
  
Gwen laughed as she straddled his thighs, her skirt riding up to accommodate the action. "Is that all you ever think about?"  
  
"And rum," he said, pulling at her clothes. "And the _Pearl_..."  
  
His hands slid into the waist of her skirt as he lightly bit at one now-bared nipple.  
  
"Jack!"  
  
His tongue flicked out over the pebbled nub, and he grinned up at her. She ground her hips downward, and he yelped. "Wench."  
  
He stood abruptly then, his hands under her thighs as she locked her ankles at his back and her arms around his neck. He started to set her down on the table, but she stopped him.  
  
"I don't want any more splinters, Jack."  
  
He grunted his acknowledgment of the request and turned, looking around the room. For a second he even looked down at the rug on the floor. Then he shook his head and carried her toward the bed. "I've still got rug-burns," he told Gwen offhandedly when she grinned at his indecision.  
  
He let her slide down to her feet beside the bed. She tugged at his trousers and-  
  
A knock came at the door. "Hungry, Cap'n?"  
  
"Very," Jack answered automatically, his voice husky, his eyes half- lidded as he skimmed his gaze over Gwen's familiar curves.  
  
"I mean, not really!" Jack hurriedly amended. "We will be... I..." He snagged a shirt from the floor, tossed another in Gwen's direction. Hurriedly tucking the shirt in, he spared a glance at Gwen before opening the door.  
  
The cook strolled in bearing his tray with the captain's evening meal. Of course, Gwen's portion was included as well. For all practical purposes, she lived with the captain in his quarters and dined off of his tray. But she was still one of the crew, too, so this special treatment was casually overlooked by the crew. The men scarcely envied her her affair with the captain himself (though one or two might envy him having her), so they didn't begrudge her the extra benefits.  
  
As the cook set the tray on the table, he nodded toward the cards still lying on one corner. "Playing cards? Who's winning?" he asked genially.  
  
"I am."  
  
Gwen and Jack exchanged a look at the simultaneous claim.  
  
"You cheat," Gwen told Jack.  
  
"It's a tie," Jack told his crewmember in the same instant.  
  
The cook didn't comment. "Cookies tonight," he said cheerfully. He grinned at each of them in turn as he left. "Cap'n. Gwen."  
  
Gwen burst out laughing as soon as the door clicked shut behind him. Practically swimming in the shirt she'd rushed to put on a moment ago, she nodded toward Jack's torso, still grinning. "Looks better on you."  
  
He looked down at himself. At Gwen's shirt. Luckily for his ego, she tended to wear men's shirts anyway these days. But it was still a few sizes too small, really, compared to his own loose and baggy shirt, the one nearly consuming Gwen alive. He stripped out of it as Gwen crossed the floor.  
  
"Cookies," she said unnecessarily, ignoring everything else on the tray and snatching one up. She took a bite from it.  
  
Jack stepped up behind her, took the treat from her hand, took a bite himself, and set it back down.  
  
He pulled her back against him then. "Cookies later," he insisted, pulling the too-large shirt over Gwen's head.  
  
"Cookies now," she replied, turning to snatch up the half-eaten cookie as she pushed him back toward the bed. 


	2. The Bet

Disclaimer: All who owned things were credited with owning things, and all who owned nothing credited it to those owned things. And the owning of things was great, and the crediting of things to the owners of things was great; and there was much rejoicing in the land.

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This particular tidbit is set just some random time post-HaDM. Just pick a day.

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The Bet

Tunnel had served aboard various ships his whole life. He was now into his fifties and could count a dozen or so different vessels that he had served aboard, some in the merchant marine, some in the royal navy, and some of lesser repute, like his current berth, the _Black Pearl_. And if there was one common thread amongst all ships, he had learned long ago, it was that bored sailors will do practically anything to amuse themselves on uneventful days on the vast, empty seas.

Even so, however, as he was passing through a corridor on the gun deck one day, he ran across a group of men in such curious postures leaning against the corridor wall that he doubled back to investigate exactly what it was that they were doing. On closer inspection, Tunnel realized that the half a dozen men were bunched around the door which led into one of the artillery rooms, and all of them were pressing their ears against the door or the wall.

"What's going on?" Tunnel finally asked.

"Shh," came the immediate response from Ben.

"What?" Tunnel repeated, though he did lower his voice in compliance. "Who's in there?"

"Gwen and Cap'n," Ben replied in a hushed tone. "We've got a pool on. Want in?"

Tunnel glanced around at the other men, then at the door, and then he seemed to settle. "What are the stakes and wagers?"

"Losers take winners' chores, wagered on what they're doing in there."

Tunnel sniffed reflexively, rubbed his chin, and with a curt nod, sidled up to an open piece of wall and assumed the eavesdropping posture.

The captain's voice was the first thing he heard.

"Easy with the balls, luv."

"I'm not going to hurt them," was Gwen's dry reply. "What next?"

Tunnel drew back for a moment. In a whisper, he asked the other men, "Who's got cannon lessons?" Two men raised their hands. "An' who's got… somethin' else?" The other four men all raised their hands. Tunnel hesitated a moment. "All right then, I'll put in my deck-swabbing tomorrow morning on artill'ry-learnin'."

Then he leaned up to the wall again.

"Don't you ever clean down here?" Gwen was saying.

"Not unless I'm bored. Just get on with it, savvy?"

"All right, all right. What do I do with this, then?"

"Here, I'll show ye."

There was a series of strange scuffling sounds that none of the eavesdropping men could quite make sense of. Then there was the sound of a dull thud, and the peculiar sound unique to the occasion of a cannonball rolling across the wooden floor, followed by the rather embarrassing sounds of enthusiastic snogging.

Tunnel frowned and exchanged confused looks with the others. "So… who wins?"

Suddenly the door swung open, and the crewmates scrambled to flee the scene, though it would have been impossible to deny what they had been doing outside the door like that.

As the last man rounded a corner, Jack turned to Gwen. "Pay up. There were only seven of them out here; ye lost."

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**Be a responsible reader and review.**


	3. Monkeys

Disclaimer: This is a disclaimer. Now there's a sweet disclaimer, you might say. Round. Anyway. So, to keep lawsuits from becoming crashed into the Delphein, Delphein would like to point out that she doesn't claim to own anything that isn't hers and also doesn't make a single sterling ounce of profit from it.

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This cookie is set post-HaDM, pre-Signif.

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Monkeys

Gwen kept her eyes on Jack as they strolled through the marketplace. She knew very well indeed that Jack had a natural tendency to get into mischief. All it would take is a single second of inattention on her part for him to do something. He might nick something from a vendor's stall or someone's pocket. Or he might steal something very large and incriminating and slip it into some poor fool's shopping basket. Or he might make faces at young children to make them run for cover behind their mothers' skirts. Or he might decide to commandeer one of the vegetable carts. Or he might try to con passing gentlemen into investing in his imaginary company, Rumworth and Shiply. Or he might wink at an elderly woman. Or he might set something ablaze. There was really no telling.

Not that Gwen cared about _stopping _him from doing any of those things or anything else he might think up, for that matter. The only problems she had with Jack's trouble-making weren't moral problems; they were problems of association. If he got caught at some petty crime, which did happen from time to time, there was always a good chance that _she_ would be accused as well, on account of her association with the criminal. She'd spent a night in jail solely on his account more than once. Jack found it funny when that happened; she wasn't always so amused.

So Gwen watched him with more attentiveness than Barbossa would have ever paid to a whole shipload of apples. If she saw him so much as put a dreadlock out of line, she'd disappear and leave him in a trice to sort out his own fate with his captors. In fact, she was spending so much of her time keeping Jack's quick hands in her sight and trying to fathom what was in his mind that she almost missed _them_. But she saw them out of the corner of her eye. A quick glance to make sure of what she was seeing was all it took before the plan began hatching in her mind.

Monkeys.

There was a merchant just up the street hawking some very exotic wares. And in one corner of his stall, between three or four long, carved elephant tusks and an assortment of variously colored vials of strange liquids, there was a medium-sized cage of at least a dozen smallish, chattering monkeys.

Jack disliked monkeys. In fact, he hated them, almost as much as Gwen hated crabs-- those skittering freakish claw-wielders. Gwen shook her head slightly to clear that thought away. Back to the matter at hand… Jack disliked monkeys. Jack was also currently in the lead. He was at least one or two over her. After the bilge-water incident and the underclothes fiasco, she'd gotten him back in her kohl caper, but he'd surged ahead again with his extravagant crew-swapping escapade. So, in short… it was time to strike back.

"Jack," Gwen began. She put a hand to her head. "Jack, I don't think I care to go to the tavern tonight. I'm getting a headache."

"I know jus' the cure for it," Jack answered distractedly as he paused to inspect an attractive etched hip flask hanging at a metal-worker's booth.

"Not rum," Gwen replied. "I think part of the headache is left over from what I had last night."

"Duckling," Jack said accusingly. Whether this was meant to be a derogatory name for her at not being able to hold her liquor as well as he, or whether he had actually just spotted a duckling, Gwen wasn't sure. But she didn't bother asking for clarification.

"I'm going back to the _Pearl_. I'll see you tonight?"

"Aye," Jack affirmed. The tone he said it in, though, meant "If I'm not back by this time tomorrow, wait longer." The sun would begin setting in another hour or so; Jack would probably be finding his way into a tavern soon.

"Keep your clothes on and don't lose your hat again," Gwen said then, and slapped him playfully on the behind as she left him. She set off in the general direction of the sea, and even turned off onto the street that led to the docks. But then she doubled back. Gwen kept herself hidden behind carts and in shadows as she eyed the crowds farther down. Ah, there he was. Jack was a very noticeable character, even at this distance. He'd stopped to admire a particularly large feathered hat.

Gwen waited until he finally disappeared down a side street. After watching patiently for several minutes to see that he didn't come back from around that corner, she began walking purposefully towards the monkey-stall.

The structure of the stall itself was barely distinguishable, covered as it was with unusual striped and spotted pelts; great plumes of feathers in strange colors; carved and polished wooden idols; bone and stone jewelry and charms; pungent herbs and large flowers strung up to dry; buckets and baskets full of tree-nuts and lengths of braided cord, rope, and twine; rolled-up scrolls of rough paper; earthen pots with foreign characters and scenes brushed onto them in fading ink; covered bowls of magical powders and holistic remedies; and many stranger things besides. The merchant responsible for such peculiar wares was a barrel-chested man with golden-brown skin-- whether from his race or the sun was impossible to determine-- as well as gleaming, alert eyes, and a scraggly dark beard. He wore a turban of coarse cotton wrapped round his head, but it little suited him and seemed to be a poor attempt to blend in with the exotic flavor of his merchandise. He turned away to appear disinterested as Gwen approached and busied himself with straightening a display of painted ceramic figurines, though he watched her most attentively over his shoulder.

Gwen played along, fingering this and studying that before finally wandering toward the corner with the monkeys. As she picked up some of the small glass bottles to examine their contents, the merchant deigned to notice her at last. "Ah," he said with oily courtesy, "the lady chooses an aphrodisiac. I got that particular potion from the Empress of India herself. It is very powerful."

Gwen made no reply, but set the vial down decisively.

"I might interest you, perhaps, in a charm for luck?" The man reached blindly into a basket and presented her with a small shell dangling from a bit of twisted twine. "This was worn for years by the very King of Spain before he gave it to me personally."

"Where did these come from?" Gwen said suddenly, ignoring his offer and stooping to peer into the cage of monkeys.

"From the very heart of Africa," he assured her immediately.

"My mistress," Gwen observed boredly, "was given several monkeys by an Italian count who had just returned from a trip abroad. They died. I was sent by my master to replace them before the mistress discovered it."

"You'll find these creatures are superior to any others!"

"How much?"

The man gave his price.

Gwen looked at them very studiously. Aware that the man was watching her very closely, she was careful to keep her left hand shielded on her side of the cage. She'd palmed one of his vials earlier and now opened it under the monkeys' noses. "They look much the same as the others did right before they died. Look at their eyes. They also had a fit of wildness just before they died." She shook her head disapprovingly and began to move away from the stall.

The merchant frowned and reflexively turned back to inspect the monkeys himself. He gave a small cry of alarm when he saw them rolling their eyes and scrambling over each other to get the side of the cage where he stood. Convinced not only that they were indeed sick, but that they were trying to come after him, he called out to Gwen with a significantly discounted price before she had gone more than a few steps.

"I'll have three of them," she agreed.

* * *

Jack got back rather earlier than expected, only a few hours after Gwen herself had returned, though he had intentions of leaving again. The first thing he saw was a cage of three monkeys sitting on the main deck. The monkeys were wearing kerchiefs tied round their little necks. Each kerchief had a number painted on it: 1, 2, and 4. He found Gwen below decks in the gymnasium, occupying herself by practicing alone with her blade.

"Your headache?" Jack asked her.

Gwen didn't pause in her sparring with her imaginary partner, but replied, "Miraculously cured."

"And that cage of monkeys?"

"I don't think they ever had headaches."

"Yours might come back," he threatened.

Gwen stopped and sheathed her sword. Then she stretched and breathed deeply and approached the spot where Jack stood in the doorway.

"Somebody," she explained, "apparently thought it would be funny to turn them loose on board the ship. I spent an hour and a half hunting them down after I saw the first one."

"There's one still missing," Jack said, sounding antsy.

"Oh, yes, the number 3 one. I couldn't find it, and I got tired of looking."

"Well, look again," he insisted.

"Jack..."

"_Now_." He grabbed her arm and dragged her out into the corridor.

Jack couldn't keep barely keep the grin off his face. In actuality, Gwen wasn't as sneaky as she thought she was, but _he_ was definitely sneakier than _she_ thought he was. He had suspected her trickery and had spied on her through the whole business: he'd watched her buy her monkeys, make the kerchiefs and number them, tie them onto the chittery little demons, and leave the cage on deck where he'd be sure to see them. Then he'd set off to make his own preparations. In a small storage room on the gun deck, skittering about across the floor, there were now three crabs, with paper numbers pasted onto the backs of their shells: 1, 2, and 4. Not only would she flee from the crustaceans, Gwen would certainly recognize his mockery of her own scheme.

Gwen and Jack both played along with the charade, searching every room on two decks before they arrived on the gun deck. Jack snickered softly to himself as he anticipated her reaction when they discovered the crab-room. His pleasure in his joke was interrupted, though, when he heard a monkey's screech, muted by distance and walls, answered by another. Frowning, he made a note to have Gwen get rid of that cage above decks. Never mind that for the moment, though; Gwen had just gone around a corner into the section where his trick awaited her. He waited... three, two, one...

"Jack!"

Gleefully, he abandoned all pretenses and dashed to where she stood in an open doorway.

"I found them," she informed him.

Surprised by her placid expression, Jack looked inside the room himself. He let out a yell of surprise and jumped back. Inside were ten or twelve monkeys, all wearing kerchiefs identical to the original trio's, all numbered "3." What Jack had failed to realize is that Gwen had expected him to spy on her; he had also ruled out the fact that she would be spying on _him_. After Jack had sneaked back off the _Pearl_, she'd asked Ben to clear out the crabs for her as a favor he owed her and then gone to get more monkeys.

After a very long interval of Gwen's laughing and Jack glaring, the joke was over.

"Damn," Jack said finally and went off to sulk for an appropriate interval.

An hour later, he found Gwen preparing to go back into town.

"Going for a drink?" he asked as nonchalantly as though nothing had happened all day.

"If you're buying," Gwen answered.

Jack draped his arm around her. He grinned to distract her from his hand while he picked her pocket. "I'll buy the whole bar," he answered agreeably, slipping silver from _her _pocket into the pocket of his coat.

Gwen only smiled in response, and the two of them set off. When Jack looked away, Gwen held out the hand farthest from him. A small monkey silently leaped up from where it had been trailing along behind them. Clutching her skirts, the monkey pressed her money, which it had just stolen out of Jack's coat pocket, into her hand. Then it jumped off and disappeared from view again.

"I like monkeys," Gwen observed aloud.

Jack merely grunted in reply.

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**Every time you review, an angel gets a pet monkey.**


	4. Cutting Carbs

Disclaimer: Own a few of these things I do. Claim all of them I do not. Sue me you will not. Keep the cheese you will.

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Random hint to readers: _Keep your eyes open for a very special cookie to be posted in the relatively near future.

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This is yet another post-HaDM, pre-Signif cookie. It is my favorite. This is also my reaction to the whole Low-Carb phenomenon that took over America this summer.

Semi-rant on fad diets in general, read at own risk: Honestly, just stop eating slop and stop sitting on your bum all day! Eat some of all the good stuff, a little of the "bad" stuff too, then go outside and play in the rain or something. Also, stop thinking that "twiggy" equals "sexy." Coming straight from Delfe's dude-friends, boney-girls don't compare to a femme who has the right curves. Just be healthy, that's what really matters. So, anyway. Semi-rant finished, we'll move along.

In this cookie Gwen plays the part of the familiar carb-counter, and Jack plays the ever-popular carb-loader. Enjoy.

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**Cutting Carbs**

"It'll be so good to get back under…" Gwen trailed off. After a pause, during which she frowned and studied the _Black Pearl _from afar, she said slowly, "Er, Jack…"

"Aye?" He too was looking at the ship as they strolled down the wharf towards it. Unlike Gwen, though, his expression was merely a fond one and not at all a concerned look.

"Is it just my imagination…" Gwen cocked her head to one side as though the perspective-change might help in some way, "or is the _Pearl_ a little low in the water?"

Jack's merry expression didn't falter. "It only looks a _little_ low to ye?"

"No," Gwen answered flatly. "It looks like she's taken on…" She hesitated, then looked up at Jack with a spark of comprehension in her eyes. In a reproachful tone, she began again, "It looks like she's got a whale or something equally absurd stashed in the hold. Probably something that will cause more trouble than Elizabeth in a bar with a match. What have you done now?"

Jack's grin widened even more, revealing more golden dentistry for the sun to glint on. "I might have… intercepted a certain shipment of goods."

"Contraband?"

"Could be."

"But definitely illegal for you to have anyway?"

"Highly."

"And how, dare I ask, did you find yourself in a position to 'intercept' said cargo?" Gwen asked.

"The fellow in charge of it had to leave town rather suddenly."

"Would you happen to know why?"

"He left for Scotland. Said something about getting a nice breeze there."

Gwen was used to Jack's inane ramblings, so she didn't even spare him a frustrated sigh at this falsification. Instead she just went on, "Never mind details then. Just tell me one thing: _What_… is currently in the _Pearl_'s hold? Besides the ordinary things, of course," she added, to keep him from being "witty" and listing the whole cargo inventory.

Without dithering at all, Jack answered proudly, "Three-thousand four-hundred eighty carbines."

Gwen's eyes widened. "_Carbines_? You've packed the _Pearl_ full of guns?"

"_I_ was with you," Jack explained logically. "_I_ didn't pack on a single one of them."

Gwen rolled her eyes and then fixed him with one of her most effective glares. No wonder he'd been so eager to escort her all the way across the city on their last day in the port. Partially to keep her away during the loading, and partially just so he could present the weak claim of innocence that he had just made.

Jack pretended not to notice Gwen's expression. He just kept blithely walking along.

Gwen finally turned her gaze away from him, shaking her head, and looked back to the _Pearl_. After another moment of scrutinizing the ship, she ventured, "And you don't think the _Pearl_ looks too heavy with all those carbines?"

As though he didn't hear her question at all, Jack suddenly exclaimed, "Look!" He stopped in his tracks, and Gwen bumped right into him. He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around, pointing out an unremarkable fisherman whistling quietly to himself as he worked on mending a net farther down the quay.

Gwen frowned. "What?" she finally prompted.

"He looks happy," Jack observed. "What say ye go plague _him_ for a while?"

"You've already paid in advance for me to pester you through next Tuesday," Gwen said, shrugging out of his grasp and resuming the journey down to their ship.

An odd grunt was the only reply Jack made as he caught up to her with his longer strides. Then, rather suddenly, he spoke up. "Just wait," he said, "and ye'll see. Loading up on carbines is the best deal I've made in a long time."

* * *

"Are you ready to renege on your claim yet?" 

"No," Jack said crossly.

Gwen lifted an eyebrow and stood silently watching him for a long moment. He and the entire assembled crew of the _Black Pearl_ were dejectedly watching their quarry escape. Try as they might, they hadn't been able to coax the _Pearl_ up to the impressive speeds that had helped win her renown. The merchant craft they had spied half an hour ago obviously wasn't as heavily laden as the black pirate ship and had effortlessly sailed past, coming no closer than a league and a half, without a worry in the world and never knowing how narrowly it had avoided being attacked.

Jack suddenly seemed to notice Gwen staring at him expectantly, for he straightened and, more firmly and stubbornly than before, repeated, "No."

* * *

"Jack!" Gwen yelled over the crash of waves and thunder. "Just admit it!" 

It was taking every lightning flash and a lot of eye-straining for him to make out anything at all about the churning sea around them. It was taking all of his wits and sea-wisdom to keep the _Pearl_ afloat. It was also taking all of his strength, and the crews', to maneuver the ship safely over each crest. The _Pearl_ was putting up more resistance to her handling than she usually did.

"We're fine," Jack answered Gwen through gritted teeth.

* * *

Jack scowled at Gwen. She had idly dug out a book from the desk drawer where he hid such things from his crew and was now calmly reading, turning a page every now and then and seeming perfectly nonchalant and indifferent. 

"I'm not hungry at all," Jack insisted to her suddenly, backing up his claim with a very unconvincing smile.

Jack's precious cargo nearly filled the _Pearl_ to her most extreme capacity, and there hadn't been quite enough room to store as many provisions as the pirates were accustomed to keeping. They'd been rationing their food ever since leaving port.

Gwen didn't appear to have heard him at all.

"We're, er… we're making berth in Nassau for a day or two."

"Will we be offloading anything, perhaps?" Gwen asked with the same sort of casual disdain as if she had been thinking specifically only of a barrel of monkeys or some other such thing.

"Replenishing provisions," Jack said decisively, closing the matter.

Gwen made no reply but smiled to herself as she turned back to her book.

* * *

--------------------------- 

In a shipping office in Nassau…

---------------------------

"I ask only that your men are prompt and quick about it."

"Aye, madam," the ship owner answered keenly, nodding sympathetically.

"I truly appreciate this. You have no idea. My dear brother out of his mind these past two months together. It's been terrible!"

The merchant's expression was a very convincing mask of compassion for the young lady's obvious distress, but by his posture it was clear he was ill at ease and uncertain how to console her. She didn't seem to notice.

"Quite convinced there's some magnificent treasure hidden in the crates, he is. He spends hours combing through them, but poor man, his eyesight is so terrible, he would overlook it even if he did see something. It isn't good for his health to obsess about it so. Oh, I'm terribly grateful to you for taking charge of the cargo. I shouldn't ever have been able to see him wholly himself again if I did nothing while he-- he-- oh!"

"There, there," the poor man tried, shifting nervously in his chair. He'd already heard her story through twice, but he couldn't see his way around dismissing her in such a state as she was, whether she repeated herself eighty times or more.

"The hours he spends, down there with those bl-" The lady seemed to stop herself, but then she convulsively twisted her handkerchief and went on, "--those guns! Oh, I'm… dreadfully sorry, Mr. Gullabel; I shouldn't trouble you so. Only… only you must be certain your sailors follow my exact instructions, or it will never work."

"I assure you, Miss Watersham, I will do everything in my power to carry out my promise to relieve you of the burden your cargo has been to you and the strain it has been for your brother's otherwise sound nature."

"I must thank you again, sir," she insisted even as she stood to leave his office.

"No, it is I who should be pleased merely to find myself in a position to help you," the businessman said, rising to his feet in deference to her. "It does not do to have one so obsessed with finding a treasure amongst ordinary carbines, and I am honored to be able to restore health to your dear brother. I ask only that you are exceedingly careful as you return to your rooms. But I must offer again… are you certain that you will not take my payment for the freight as a letter of credit? Or will you at least allow me to send an escort with you? That is a great deal of money for even a man to carry on his person."

The young lady clutched her reticule compulsively but smiled. "No, I'm sure I'll be quite safe. A manservant waits for me, and I haven't far to go. Thank you, sir."

"Not at all," he assured her again, half-bowing to her as she left. As soon as she was gone, his eyes began to sparkle with greed and he began speculating on what sort of treasure could possibly be hidden in crates full of carbines. Clearly something wonderful to drive a man to madness over it. What a foolish girl the sister was to sell the freight to him like this! Still, that poor devil's loss was Mr. Gullabel's gain.

* * *

"Gwen! _Gwen!_" 

Gwen appeared on deck, appearing to be not in the least bit perturbed by Jack's bellowing. "I?" she answered placidly.

"_What_… did ye do, wench?"

"I only had a sip or two, then I put it back."

He stared. "Not that!"

"Well," she said, sounding confused, "what are you on about, then?"

"Did ye notice, by chance, that the carbines are gone? All of them? Every last one?"

"Of course I did," Gwen answered logically. "I noticed the difference immediately as soon as I first returned to the _Pearl_ this afternoon. You finally sold them off, then? I'm glad--"

"_I didn't_," he replied through gritted teeth.

Gwen looked almost genuinely surprised. "Did you not? I spoke with Gibbs and Smithy both not more than an hour ago. They said that the men who came to move the crates had--"

"Had all due papers, with _my_ false trade name on the bill of sale. Smithy confirmed that it _looked _like it was in my hand, and allowed them to take them all," Jack finished for her. He'd already spoken with the first mate and quartermaster.

"Are you trying to say," Gwen began, speaking slowly and deliberately, "that you _didn't_-"

"_Gwen_…" Jack interrupted, but he couldn't seem to think of anything to say to her. He was trembling in his rage, and twice he started to move his hands toward her throat but stopped himself midway. Finally, he turned and stamped off to his cabin, slamming the door behind him.

"_You_ did it, didn't you?" came a voice from behind her. Gwen turned to see Gibbs, Smithy, and Ben looking at her expectantly.

Wordlessly, she drew out a large money purse stuffed full with banknotes and gold coins.

"Mother's love," Gibbs swore softly at the sight of so much money in one place.

"At least I'm the only one he's angry with," Gwen said. All three heads bobbed up and down in agreement-- and gratitude that she'd done what no one else had dared to. "See that every man gets his share," Gwen said, handing the thick purse over to Smithy.

"Aye," the man said, already weighing the amount in his hand and scrutinizing it with twice the care and consideration of an honest banker.

Ben suddenly reached out and grasped Gwen's hand, shaking it heartily. "Bless ye, Gwen," he said. "Devil take me for goin' agains' the cap'n, but bless ye for gettin' rid of 'em."

* * *

"I can almost taste them…" 

Gwen made a face and stared at Jack. He was lying on the bed on his back, bemoaning her traitorous business deal.

"Jack, they're _guns_. You don't _eat_ them; they don't _have_ a taste."

"They're beautiful. I love carbines."

Gwen sighed.

* * *

Jack ducked to reload his pistol. He felt almost silly firing on the excise agents' ship with the flyweight weapon. Further along the deck, Ben Blades was crouched behind the main mast, struggling with a very old and weathered matchlock musket. Gwen was trying to return fire with a musketoon, but the firearm didn't allow for very accurate shots. 

"A few carbines would have been nice about now," Jack growled to Gwen.

* * *

"…Ye can prop a door open with them. Ye can wake the crew with them. Ye can shine them up and blind an enemy. Ye can scratch your bum with them. Ye can--" 

"Jack, if you want to get more carbines, I'm not going to stop you. After all, _you're_ the captain, aren't you, Captain?"

"So ye confess they're useful?" Jack answered, ignoring her barb about his title. "Ye won't get rid of them behind me back?"

Gwen exhaled slowly. "All right," she said at last. "I admit, it would be nice to have a few aboard. _A few_. As long as you get a _reasonable_ number, I won't get rid of any of them. Do we have an accord?"

"A hundred, then?"

"Jack…"

"Fifty."

"Agreed," Gwen said.

"Agreed," Jack echoed. He stared at her silently for a moment. "So… we're back… we're on friendly terms again, aye?"

"I would say so," Gwen answered.

There was another moment of silence and stillness. Then, suddenly, both pirates began stripping out of their clothes and scrambling toward the bed.

* * *

**Every time you forget to review, a puppy dies.** __


	5. Me Hat

Disclaimer: My tale has borrowed characters. Borrowed characters has this tale. And had it not _borrowed_ characters… I could possibly actually get paid for it. Oh well.

* * *

Me Hat  
(It Has Three Corners)

* * *

_This cookie comes from sometime between _Honest and Dishonest Men_ and _Significance

* * *

A very loud noise suddenly caught the attention of everyone in the bar. The brawlers and dancers paused and began looking about, trying to discover what had happened. Some of the more inebriated souls amongst the company instantly fell to the floor, clutching various body parts, each drunkenly believing he'd just been shot. All eyes (except for eyes belonging to the men who'd just been "gunned down") soon settled on one corner of the room, though. In that corner on the floor lay two halves of an unfortunate table. Sprawled on top of the destroyed table was a rather large and rather unconscious man. And sitting near the scene of this apparent accident sat a particular Jack Sparrow who liked people to remember he was a captain. 

"Heeee… h- he tripped," Captain Jack Sparrow slurringly explained to the staring crowd. The captain seemed to notice his leg was still extended and slowly bent his knee, dragging his foot out of the walkway.

Activity in the tavern resumed its normal fervor as soon as the cause of the noise was known, and Jack took that as his cue to move along. He stood to leave and reached up to tug his hat down farther over his head…

…but his hand landed on his hair. He frowned. This wasn't quite right. He patted and poked the top of his head until he was quite convinced that, indeed, there was no hat to be found upon his crown.

He patted down the rest of his body, checking to see if perhaps his hat were resting on his shoulder or behind his knee. When this search, too, failed to produce his hat, he expanded his hunt to include all nearby tables, chairs, and bar-flies, and he expanded his methods to include sight, touch, smell, and sound. He discovered some interesting sights and textures and heard some strange things. He smelled things that made him glad he hadn't decided to use his sense of taste as well in aiding his search. But all this still returned to him no hat.

Finally, it occurred to him that he perhaps left it at another bar earlier that evening. In fact, there was a good chance he had done so. He was almost certain he remembered removing it earlier… And there was a woman, mingling with the crowd in the bar, who had a very familiar-looking backside… He shook his head to refocus. Ah yes… so all he would have to do is go back to that bar, whichever one it was, and retrieve his hat.

It was a good plan. It was a very good plan, in fact. Wonderful idea. Andthus his thoughts ran on as he headed out into the raucous Tortuga night. He turned into the very next bar he came to, The Angels' Roost, still congratulating himself for his great and magnificent plan. He was so pleased with his glorious plan, in fact, that he went directly and ordered a pint of rum to celebrate his own genius.

When the barmaid returned with his drink, he urged her to sit down for a moment, and he immediately began to share with her what a great plan he had devised.

"What sort of plan?" the stained and soured scum woman asked.

"I'm going to look for it!" Jack announced.

"Look for what?" she responded automatically, a foul odor wafting from her mouth as she spoke.

"The Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything!" Jack slurred enthusiastically.

"Another one of those, eh?" she said peevishly as she scratched at her long hooked nose. "I thought you preacher-types steered clear of hellholes like this. T'isn't as if we don' get-"

"Me hat!" Jack interrupted her, as though just remembering.

"What about your ruddy hat?" the barmaid asked irritably

"It… has three corners," Jack began, looking at her as if expecting her to suddenly burst out with a detailed account of where his hat currently was, as well as everywhere that it had ever been.

"You think yer hat's going to give you the Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything? What's a hat got to do with the godforsaken four corners of the world?"

"_Three _corners," Jack corrected, "has me hat."

The barmaid stared at him appraisingly, then she abruptly stood. "Let me know if you want a refill. I'm not here to talk about the corners of your damned hat."

"If it didn't have three corners, though, it wouldn't be my hat," Jack said gently.

The world-wearied woman scowled unbecomingly and stalked away.

Jack realized that this bar had four corners in it. But his hat only had three corners in it. Dead end. He frowned and stood. He stood a bit too quickly, though, and nearly lost his balance. A friendly set of arms caught him before he had tipped too far, though, and set him aright again. His hat didn't have arms, either. So it certainly couldn't be in this fourcornered, armed bar. He continued his search.

The next bar Jack found was The Sphinx. He veered through the doorway and sought out a drinkandsome answers.

A grizzly bartender was the first person he spotted that might be able to give both, and so he approached him. The bartender slid him a tankard as Jack began to present his problem to the sage-looking man. "Me…" Jack frowned, searching for the word. He gestured wildly, waving his hands around his head.

The bartender only stared dumbly, shaking his head in confusion.

"It has three corners," Jack hinted.

"What has three corners?"

"Three corners…" Jack said, drawing his hand in circles as though to draw the word out of the bartenders' mouth. "…has me…"

The bartender furrowed his brow as Jack helpfully patted his own head and pantomimed a hat-shape. "Yer hair?" he suggested.

"If it doesn't have three corners, then it's not me… er… it's not mine." Jack answered.

The bartendergave him a baffled look. Three-cornered object that sits on someone's head… He had no idea with this insane man was jabbering about. He walked away, leaving Jack without any more answers to help him on his quest.

Jack frowned and looked down at his feet in dejection. The hem of the skirt ofsome tavern wench standing very near him… looked somewhat familiar. Which was odd, since neither he nor his hat owned a skirt. He sighed discontentedly at his unfruitful search and left the bar.

He soon found another tavern which seemed promising: The Stranger's Harp.

He was all set to cut right to the chase and get some rum and ask some questions… but he realized very quickly, as soon as he was inside, thatthis bar looked very different from any other bar he had ever soon. There weren't as many people within as could usually be found in such establishments, and the fireplace-scene before him was far too cozy and inviting… but what tipped him off was the fact that there was no actual _bar_ from which to get his drink. This was a problem. He wasn't sure he'd be able to remember what his quest was if he didn't have a drink. Before he could back away and leave, however, two men hastened to pull him closer to their circle around the fire.

"What brings you here tonight, brother?" a leader-type of man asked as the others dragged Jack to the center of the assemblage, standing him up right before the cozy flame.

Jack frowned very deeply as he tried to remember if he had a brother or not. He might've mumbled out a bunch of tangled words to that effect. The dozen or so men immediately assured him, "You do here!", "You're not alone!", and "This can be your family!"

Jack blinked. He certainly didn't remember having a family this large. But he thought if they _were_ family, perhaps they would know where his hat was.

"I'm looking for…" he began, "for…." Blast! He'd just had the word, not five seconds ago. "Haaaaa,….harrrr… Looking for h-ha-ho-hhh."

"Hope!" someone completed for him.

Jack pursed his lips and toyed with his goatee, trying to decide if that was the word he'd been looking for or not. He arrived at no conclusion and so instead he continued, "It has… er… has… co-corrrrr- cornerers."

"Colonels!" one his newfound brothers echoed. "You're in the Royal Navy?"

"Colonels has me… hh-hhhaaaa…"

"One of your colonels gave you hope? He sent you here?" exclaimed one of the men. "Praise be!"

Jack looked all about, thoroughly confused. This didn't seem at all as though it had anything to do with his hat. He decided to tell them so and announced his departure by means of a quick explanation: "If I hadden not colonel-cornerers, I wouldnent have a ha-harp."

This announcement did not have quite the effect he had hoped for. A gleeful shout went up, and the men thronged forward, eager to shake his hand and pat his back. "Free from the fiery gates!" the ringleader proclaimed joyously.

Jack, somewhat alarmed, ducked and tried to dodge the overly cheerful "brothers." He darted quickly to one side, lost his balance, caught a glimpse of a woman's chest amongst all the men, and fell seat-first into the fireplace. With a yelp and not a single look back, Jack abandoned the confusing non-bar full of confusing non-family members.

He wandered the streets of Tortuga, getting lost in brawling crowds, re-emerging only to be enveloped by clouds of smoke and deafened by yells and sounds of fighting, looking everywhere for his missing article. Eventually, he took refuge in the very next immoral wallow he could find: an errant-looking place called The Long Nine.

Once inside, he went in search of a quart of rum. He couldn't remember what he was looking for anymore. Rum usually helped with problems like that. He usually could think clearer if he had his hat, too. But since he didn't know where his hat was, he was hoping the rum would help him remember.

An attractive barmaid brought him his drink and then perched on the table nearest where he stood. Jack had downed nearly a quarter of the rum in the amount of time it took the girl to croon, "Why so glum, sailor?"

"I can'na find me… me…" He scratched his head thoughtfully, but couldn't come up with a word to fill in the blank. "It has… er…"

"I don't know what you're looking for, sailor, but I'll tell you what _I'm _looking for," she purred in response.

"… has me… If it- if it does nata…has… it's not…" Jack shook his head, giving up, and began to lower himself wearily into a chair to finish off his rum.

"You help me find what I'm looking for, and I'll help you," the whore suggested sweetly.

"Wao!" Jack exclaimed, leaping back to his feet again, having just been painfully reminded of his burned bum.

The tavern girl grinned at his apparent eagerness. She wasted no time in leading him to an upper room, and he unthinkingly followed, oblivious to all that had not three corners or that might make his arse stop smarting. The door shut behind him…

A few moments later, the door flew open, and a very bewildered Jack Sparrow ran starkers through The Long Nine- his own, unfettered and free. The bar's patrons burst into laughter at the sight of a man running _away_ from a whore. Jack didn't notice them, though; he rushed straight to where Gwen stood, lurking in a corner.

Gwen? What was she doing here…?

He instantly forgot those questions, though. Never mind why or how she was here. He fell at her feet, clinging to her skirts as though she were the last bottle of rum on the earth. He looked up at her blearily, staring in fascination at the triangular-shaped thing she wore on her head.

"I'm l-looking for me pants," Jack told her.

* * *

Jack awoke with several very unusual sensations to sort through. First of all, his skull was full of miners trying to hammer their way out- a constant, painful pounding. Second, he was lying on his stomach, which he was not in the habit of doing. Third, he was very naked. And fourth, his rear was throbbing, which it usually wasn't in the habit of doing either. 

He groaned and wondered what in hell's name he'd done last night.

"Good morning, sunshine," came a familiar voice. Jack looked up to see Gwen standing before him. "At least I found your hat," she informed him, grinning broadly. She handed him a glass of water, gave him a light smack on his tender bum, and turned away, ignoring his growl of pain. "Careful getting dressed, Colonel Corners," she called over her shoulder.

* * *

**_Fin  
And now, for some author's notes:_**

* * *

_I apologize in advance for the absurdity of this limerick :_

_**After reading, submitting a review  
Is like smoking a ciggy after a screw;  
But Delphein suggests  
That you try hard to guess  
Which one is the better of the two.**_

**_The first choice will not make you wheeze  
Or give you venereal disease.  
So for amusemend needs,  
I suggest that you read.  
But when you read, do review, if you please._**_

* * *

_

Three questions for my faithful readers:

_Were you upset by the unresolved state of affairs at the end of Significance?  
__Have you been hoping for another installment of the Jack and Gwen saga?  
__Where will you be as the clock strikes 12:00 a.m. Central Time Zone in the wee morning hours of Monday, March 7, 2005?_


End file.
